Night Visits
by Rebecca S. Smithey
Summary: What does Walt do when he runs into irrefutable proof that the Old Ones are really there and talking to him? Is he schizophrenic? Are the voices only talking to him? Does he need a psychiatrist or a psychic? Surgery or a Shaman? Is he crazy or Cosmically Connected?


**Night Visits**

by

Rebecca S. Smithey

Nora Lou Wilson

What does Walt do when he runs into irrefutable proof that the Old Ones are really there and talking to him? Is he schizophrenic? Are the voices only talking to him? Does he need a psychiatrist or a psychic? Surgery or a Shaman? Is he crazy or Cosmically Connected?

Walt Longmire sat up in bed. Sweat ran down his face, chest and back; it had puddled under his body until he felt he had been swimming instead of sleeping. _What a nightmare!_

Walt shivered in the chilly room. _Chilly? It was ninety degrees today and wasn't supposed to cool off all that much tonight. _He looked at his watch and could barely make out the luminous hands and numbers. 2:47 am. The temperature in the room seemed to drop even more as Walt felt he was being watched. Walt saw movement from the corner of his eye and he moved like he was still a teenager – but there was no one there. Then he heard it. It started as a heartbeat…his heartbeat. But as he realized he was alone in the room his heart slowly quieted down. The beat did not.

"Henry? If this is some kind of joke…another plan to get me in shape…you can get the hell out. It's the middle of the night! You should still be counting your ill-gotten gains from the Pony."

The beats continued as Walt walked through his empty cabin. A ghost of a chuckle followed, but quickly hushed as Walt finished searching the small cabin he and Martha had started shortly before her diagnosis. There was no one there…Walt would swear to it. No one.

Alert as only someone who had been in battle could be, Walt grabbed his heavy duty flashlight from his belt hanging by the door and walked outside. The air was still cool, but not as cold as it had been inside. The beats were fainter out here, but just to be sure Walt walked all the way around the cabin, searching for what could be making the sound; a tape recorder, footprints, anything that could explain what he was experiencing.

Stepping around the back corner of his deck, a stone bruised his foot and he realized he had forgotten to put on his boots in his rush to discover the rational explanation he was sure he would find. _At least I know I'm awake. That's gonna leave a mark._

The beats were much fainter here. _Someone must have left a recorder going in the house…when I find out who is trying to pull this prank on me…_

The beats became clearer as he walked back into the front room of his cabin and the sound changed. They were drums, the distinctive sound of a rawhide drum being beaten by a round rawhide padded club. The kind used at meets and powwows and they were getting louder.

Once again Walt's heart speeded up, got louder, until it matched the beat of the drums, synchronized with the drums, became the drums, just as it had on the mountain. _Don't think about the mountain…you made it off the mountain…Henry and Branch came for you…_

*But will you go to Henry now?*

Walt whirled toward the sound of the voice. _No one. No one there. _

*Henry needs you. Go to him NOW!*

Walt didn't wait for an explanation any longer. Shoving his feet into his boots, grabbing his gun belt and keys, Walt ran for the Bullet. He wrenched open the door and threw himself into the driver's seat.

*Hurry!*

The voice was quieter now but more intense for all that. _I'm only a mile away. I'll make it!_

*I hope so.*

Walt saw flashes of light, wispy figures lining the way along the grey, empty road. Figures running, fighting, rushing along making the fear he felt build to an unbearable pressure. _Henry is alright…he will be fine! That damn Indian had BETTER be fine!_

Screeching his tires on the asphalt, Walt turned into the gravel parking lot of The Red Pony and nearly lost control of the Bullet but made it to the front of the bar. He slammed on the brakes and threw the Bullet into park. Opening the door he nearly fell from the truck. There was a hand print on the front door of The Red Pony, which was open a few inches, and in the bright beams of the Bullet's headlights it looked like it was made in blood.

Walt's stomach clenched as he hurtled toward his friend's bar. Careful not to touch anything with a bare hand Walt used his elbow to throw open the door. A trail of blood led to the actual bar and around it out of sight. Walt rushed to follow the trail, subconsciously not stepping in the blood or the footprints that cut through it to the other side of the counter that ran the length of the front room of The Red Pony. And he found Henry, lying in a pool of blood, a knife sticking out of his chest.

"Henry! HENRY!"

"Um?"

"Stay with me!"

"I am not going anywhere. By the way, where am I?"

"The Red Pony. Hold on, I'm calling 911."

Walt stood and grabbed the phone behind the bar.

"Absaroka County Sheriff's Department, what is the nature of your emergency?"

"Vic, send an ambulance to The Red Pony, Henry's been stabbed."

"Walt, are you shitting me? Have you had too much to drink again?"

"Vic, get an ambulance here now…you can stay there and paint your toenails as far as I'm concerned. I just want help for Henry. We'll solve the damned crime later!"

"The ambulance is on its way! I'll be there as soon as I can!"

To Walt the wait seemed interminable. The second hand on his watch took an hour to move off each mark.

"Henry, who did this?"

"I do not know, nor do I care at this moment. I am finding it very difficult to breathe."

"You'd better keep breathing. You owe me a meal."

"I do not. You owe ME a meal."

"No, you lost the bet on the Little League game Tuesday."

"Ah, but I won that back with the U.S. Open bet and then won the bet on the Cubbies."

"The Cubbies lost."

"That is what I bet."

"No, _**I**_ bet they would lose."

"We cannot bet on the same outcome."

The argument was cut short by the arrival of the ambulance. The EMTs rushed in rolling a gurney loaded with equipment and Walt stepped out of the way to give them room to work. After looking at Henry, Joe Mauley, a former football star from Durant High School got on the radio clipped to the neck of his uniform. He began relaying information to the emergency room as a girl Walt did not recognize started an IV on Henry. She began asking him the usual questions as she stuck him.

"Sir, are you allergic to any medications?"

"Not to my knowledge."

Walt heard the drum beats again. This time not doubting their urgency he stepped outside to see an old man, Cheyenne by the looks of him, standing at the edge of the parking lot. He was staring up at the neon red pony on the outside of the building. Slowly he shook his head, then turned and looked at Walt. He smiled, nodded once and faded into the darkness that covered the parking lot. Walt knew then that his best friend would make it.

Henry Standing Bear's room in the hospital had three nurses and two of what Walt still thought of as candy stripers, though he didn't think they were called that anymore. There was a great deal of giggling going on, which reassured Walt that the news he had received from Doc Bloomfield early that morning was accurate. Henry was going to be fine. The assailant had managed to miss most of the major arteries and veins in his chest; in fact, the knife only punctured his left lung, and leaving the knife in place had kept his lung from collapsing. He had lost a lot of blood, so much that if Walt hadn't shown up when he did, there was a very good chance he would be making trying to solve a murder today instead of an assault. Walt removed his hat and walked into Henry's room.

"I hate to bother you…"

"Then do not."

"I need to ask you some questions."

"I am busy recovering."

"Henry…"

"Ladies, this very rude person seems intent on ruining our visit."

"Perhaps we should go, we can come back later." The floor nurse ushered the other ladies from the room, but they all took time to wish Henry well and promise to return as soon as they could.

"How come when I'm in here all I get is you, Ruby, deputies and maybe Cady – if I'm lucky – and you get swarmed with females?"

"It is a question you should not have to ask. Just look at us. Is that all you wanted to ask me? If so you can tell Jacki to come back in."

Which one is Jacki?"

"The Crowe in blue."

"Henry, she's young enough to be your daughter!"

"But she is not my daughter…is that all?"

"No, I need to know who stabbed you."

"I do not know."

"Was he wearing a mask or something? It had to be someone who had a grudge against you."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because nothing was missing that we could find. The cash register was untouched; it had $787.17 in it."

"It was a good night."

"Yeah, right up until the time you got stabbed in the chest."

"Yes, up until that time."

"The bar was closed?"

"Yes."

"Had you locked the door?"

"I was on my way to lock it."

"Was anyone in the bar with you when you started to close up?"

"No."

"So, the bar was empty except for you, you started for the door to lock it up and someone came in and just stabbed you in the chest. You never said if he was wearing a mask or not."

Henry began to move in the bed; Walt thought he was almost squirming. He looked uncomfortable, too. _What is going on here?_

"I do not remember."

"You don't remember if he was wearing a mask or not?"

"No."

"Do you remember him coming in? What was he wearing?"

"I do not know."

"Henry, what's going on…this isn't exactly the only stressful situation you have been in. Why won't you answer my questions?"

"I do not wish to press charges."

"What?"

"You heard me, I will not press charges."

"In other words you know exactly who did this and don't want to get them in trouble."

"I am not pressing charges, Walt…drop this."

"Was it some kid from the res?"

"Walt…I am warning you." Henry's face to stone as he glared at his best friend.

"Ah, you're warning me…Dena Many Camps."

"What? Where did that come from?"

"The only time you 'warn' me is when Dena Many Camps is involved. You two have a fight?"

"I was cutting limes for tomorrow when she came in. We had a fight…I provoked her…she grabbed the knife from the chopping board and stabbed me. She did not mean to. End of story…I will not discuss this again and I am not pressing charges so you must drop this. By the way, why did you come by The Red Pony? It was very late."

Now it was Walt's turn to look uncomfortable. "I had a…late night visitor."

"Someone told you I was in trouble? Dena?"

"No, not Dena." Walt shuffled his feet as he turned his hat in his big hands.

"Drums. You heard drums? That kind of visitor?"

Walt dropped his head; this was not going the way he had planned it at all. "Shit."


End file.
